


Behind Enemy Lines

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5999020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor slips away to speak with Gildor while the Hose of Fingolfin and the House of Fëanor are at odds with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Enemy Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> For AmyFortuna, who requested Gildor/Maglor and _desperate need or longing for love_. Hope you enjoy! :)

Curling his fingers proved painful when they were freezing cold. He could scarcely pick up the bundle he had tucked away from his brothers’ sight to avoid any conflict. The people who had followed his father into Endor by the ships and the people who had followed Fingolfin now resided at opposite sides of Lake Mithrim, a people divided with a shared enemy in Morgoth. Maglor could not blame them; they had suffered great losses in their journey, had placed the sons of Fëanor in accomplice with their father. 

He set the crown his brother Curufin has forged for him— _a useless regent_ , he thought of himself, _not even capable of thawing the coldness coming from the Host of Fingolfin when they had arrived_ —and shadowed himself in a long cloak. 

He found the golden-haired elf standing watch, as he had done each night since the Host had set up camp at the lake. He stood a little distance off, just far away that Maglor could steal a few minutes alone with him. 

He sensed Maglor approach before he could reach him. 

“Makalaurë?” 

Maglor nodded and presented the bundle: warm bread wrapped in cloth. “You will need your strength, beloved. They tell me you go by the name of Gildor Inglorion now?” 

Gildor nodded curtly, and Maglor attempted a smile. “I enjoy the sound of the name. Far fairer than my own in the Sindar’s tongue.” Maglor could have chosen any name for himself, could have altered the sounds, to make it more appealing, but he enjoyed the harsh sound of his new name. It reflected the disgust he felt towards himself. 

“Why did you come here?” Gildor’s eyes remained on Maglor, his face unreadable. The question was spoken by a stranger, not from the man whose face lit up every time he had seen Maglor in their happy days together in Valinor. 

Grief and misery nearly overcame Maglor, all resolve nearly breaking, and he almost shouted that he had just lost his father, that his youngest brother had died in the ships, and his eldest was taken and death would be mercy from what horrors he could face in the lands of their enemy. 

But all the words threatening to burst out rattled his body instead. His fingers curled into the bread. 

“Why didn’t you beg your father to turn the ships back to us?” 

“I had no power! He had become mad in the last hours of his life! Even when I did begin to see the error of his ways, we could do nothing but follow his orders!” He drew a heavy sigh. “Gildor, you are my husband and I am the regent of my people now. Come stay with me. We will talk more about this in the morning.” 

“I am not welcome there,” Gildor said simply, the finality of his words like a sword through Maglor’s heart. Tentatively he reached out and touched Gildor’s arm, but the eyes that met his were wary and cold. He held out the bread again in offering, which Gildor took and set aside, breaking eye contact. When he turned back, Maglor was sorry to find anger in his husband’s eyes. 

“Did it feel good driving that blade through another elf?” 

Maglor hesitated, remembering the euphoric rush that flowed through him. His lip trembled. “Gildor…” 

“What have you become? Where was the man I had fallen in love with? The poet and the singer? Were was the love and respect for life in you in that moment? Your altruism and compassion, or had the evil always been buried in you, waiting for the right moment to show just how deplorable you truly are?” 

All the color left Maglor’s face, defeated, and he lowered his head in shame, unable to think of a proper retort. He didn’t wish to spend this chance fighting with Gildor, not with the man he loved so much. Hearing his words had gutted him worse than he had thought it would. He had lost so much already, but he could not endure the thought of losing Gildor, the one greatest and happiest constant of his life. He had something precious in his hands, something pure and good, and he had destroyed it. 

“Maglor, I am truly sorry.”

The words were spoken softly. Maglor didn’t realized how much he was shaking until Gildor touched his shoulder with a hand Maglor had sorely missed seeing and feeling so close to him. 

“I am angry, but I must apologize for my outburst,” Gildor said, sighing deeply in grief. “We have suffered so much in our journey here. I buried many friends in the Grinding Ice. It was the result of your father, and…I should not have held you responsible for his actions.”

“What nightmare are we living in?” Maglor said in a small voice. “Would we were both back home!” 

Strong arms pulled him into a tight embrace, and Maglor breathed in the familiar and comforting scent of his beloved and held on to him as he allowed his grief to get the better of him. He could feel Gildor’s own tears on the top of his head, and they held on like this until, shifting around, they parted to gaze at one another, then kissed, tasting the lips they both missed for so long. 

“Brother.” 

Maglor froze. He and Gildor looked up and saw Curufin standing right behind enemy lines, the regent crown of Maglor held in his hands. As graceful as a sly cat, he had crept up on them, watching them with eyes bright with a fiery flame that twisted knots in Maglor’s stomach. He regarded Maglor with a coy smile. 

“Come, brother,” he said. “I was beginning to miss you in our camp.” 

Maglor shifted and felt Gildor squeeze his hand, but a moment later he let go. 

“We will not be apart after this,” Maglor promised. “I will see you again.” Then he followed his brother, glancing back to see Gildor watching them.


End file.
